


The Companion

by blue_fjords



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:31:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_fjords/pseuds/blue_fjords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Very loosely inspired by the Norwegian folktale "The Companion" by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen, for yellowfic, who likes fairy tale AU's and wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Companion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [needsmoreyellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/needsmoreyellow/gifts).



There once was a young man, living all alone on the slopes of a great mountain, who dreamed he had a brother, and that brother was tall and strong and clever and loved the young man with all the trust and faith of a little brother. Upon waking, the young man sold all he had to outfit himself for a long journey, through the valley and over the mountains and across the fjords. He knew he had to find his brother and reunite their family, for his heart was so large but so very empty.

Upon arriving at the first village in the valley, the young man came across a mob of men and women, gathered around a broken creature on the side of the road. The villagers kicked and spat at the dead thing, and snatched filthy, matted feathers out of its enormous misshapen wings.

"Why are you doing this?" the young man asked, his heart troubled.

"This thing is an angel," the village elder declared. "He is not like us. He is the reason the village gold has disappeared, and he has paid for his thievery with his life. Who are you to question us?"

"I am Dean," the young man said. "Surely the angel has suffered for the crime and more. Will you not properly burn his dead body?"

"Who would pay for a sinner such as that to be burned?" the elder asked scornfully.

"I can see no one here," Dean replied. He had not much money left him after buying his supplies for the journey, and using them here would delay him. But he could not bear to pass through the village and leave the angel so defiled. "I will do it."

He bought thick, soft shrouds and skillfully wrapped the broken creature, paying extra care to the ruined wings. He sprinkled the wrapped body with herbs, placed it beneath wood soaked in fragrant oil and lit the structure on fire. He stood beside the pyre until it burned down to ashes, and said a few words on the passing of the creature.

"I don't know where angels go when they die," he said. "Hopefully somewhere nicer than here." 

There was nothing further to say, so Dean shouldered his pack and carried on his journey, his pockets empty and his head filled with memories of the dead angel's wings, the feathers soot-stained and ragged yet still softer than the shroud.

Dean made his way through the valley, sleeping beneath hedges at night and hunting as he walked, as he had no more money with which to purchase food and lodging in any of the villages he passed.

As he reached the end of the valley and began to climb the foothills, he met a man on the side of the road.

"Good day," Dean greeted him, for this man did not appear to have a countenance similar to that of the mob from the first village.

"Good day," the man said gravely. "Are you traveling to the mountains on your own?"

"To the mountains and through them, and across the fjords," Dean replied.

"That is a long journey," the man said. "You will need a servant to help you. Please. Let me be your servant on your journey."

Dean looked at the man. He could not tell if he was young or old, though his eyes were a deep blue, hiding ancient truths in their dark depths. The man's hands were strong and capable, but the skin looked soft, and he stood stiffly, as if unused to standing without a large weight on his back.

The journey would indeed be very long, and Dean had not met any people he cared to spend time with in any of the villages he had passed. This man was different.

"I have no money for a servant," Dean said, "but a companion to share the journey would be welcome, if you still wish to travel with me."

The man agreed, and took half the packs onto his own shoulders.

"What are you known as?" Dean asked him. "I am Dean."

"Hello, Dean. I am Cas."

Dean and his companion traveled out of the valley and up the slopes of a mountain. There they came to a crossroads and found a path leading down to a narrow gorge connecting several mountains, which would save them several days of arduous travel. A beautiful young woman stood where the two paths converged and called to them as they approached.

"Hello, travelers, and well met. What is your business here?"

"We are traveling through these mountains, and see the best way is on this path," Dean answered her, indicating the path leading down to the gorge.

"The best way? Truly?" The woman smiled, her lips curved as like a fishing hook. "Then by all means you must take it."

Dean started forward, but his companion reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"I have heard tales of demons who haunt the corners where two roads meet," Cas said in a low voice. "Once we are in the crossroads, she will ask us for something and we must give it, if we are to ever leave."

Dean looked at the young woman. He knew not what a demon looked like, but her eyes were dark and predatory, unlike the eyes of his companion, which were open and without guile.

"We will have to go over the mountain instead of through the gorge," Cas continued.

"I do not wish to prolong our journey," Dean argued. "Surely there is a way around her." He frowned at the woman, who smiled back, unable to hear their low conversation. "If we would be held by the crossroads, would the same force hold her?"

"There is but one way to find out." Cas stepped forward, nearly to the edge of the path, and called to the demon. "Would you join us here, to share in our bread and meat? We have been walking far and need a respite."

The woman shook her head and looked beyond Cas. "Come here," she commanded Dean.

Her words echoed like the clanging of a bell within his mind, and though he did not wish to join her in the crossroads, Dean took a step forward, and another, until his companion raised his arm and blocked the path. Dean shook his head, clearing it as if from a fog. The demon could not leave the crossroads.

"Come here!" she called again, but Dean did not have to heed her voice as long as his companion was beside him. They walked around the crossroads and continued into the gorge, the demon crying louder and louder until they were back on the path.

Dean clapped his hand on his companion's shoulder, for it was difficult for him to speak the words of thanks. They traveled through the gorge, the mountain walls climbing high and rocky on either side of them. Little light made its way to their path and a cold wind funneled through its narrow opening, attempting to knock them flat. Dean soon gripped the shoulder of his companion in order to stay upright. Night fell swiftly.

"There is an outcropping ahead," Cas said, peering through the gloomy darkness.

"We will stop there for the night," Dean decided.

The outcropping hardly qualified for the term, just an alcove in the rock wall, barely enough to shelter one grown man. Cas insisted that Dean take advantage of the space first. Dean made him promise to wake him in a few hours and then stretched out, his back to the hard rock wall. His body shook with his shivers and sharp stones dug into his back.

Yet he did not wake until weak dawn sunlight filtered into the gorge. Dean blinked his eyes slowly. Cas was pressed tight against him, keeping him warm, and the tent from Dean's pack was affixed to the rocky wall, creating a wind shield for them. Even the sharp stones that had dug into his back at the beginning of the night did not hurt, as if there was a soft barrier between Dean and the stones. Dean stretched, feeling well-rested and refreshed, but he was angry, for his companion had not woken him in the night as he promised.

"We were to split the night's watch," he said when Cas's eyes opened. "Why did you not wake me?"

"I do not need much sleep," Cas said. "I preferred to keep watch over you."

"Tonight we will switch duties," Dean declared.

They broke their fast on dried beef and fruit from Dean's pack and continued on their way. The wind poked and prodded, stealing cold fingers beneath their layers of wool and leather to chill them to the bone. Each step they took was a trial, but as the light began to fade, victory was theirs for the narrow gorge was widening on the far side of the mountains. The sight of open air spurred them on but as they hurried forward, Dean felt his spirits fall.

For the gorge did not end in foothills or plains, or even more mountains, but in empty air. They were on a fjord, cliff face rising at their backs and falling beneath their feet into the pure blue water below. Dean was filled with despair.

"Night is falling and there is no way to get down," he said. "We will have to go back through the gorge."

"Back through the gorge?" an unfamiliar voice echoed. A tall, thin man stepped out from the shadows, appearing from a crevice that did not look large enough to conceal a full-grown man.

"Who are you?" Dean asked. "State your business!"

"I am Alistair," the man replied. His high cheekbones formed deep caverns on his face and gave him a foreboding air. The hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood up, but Cas did not seem similarly affected.

"We need to cross the fjord," Cas said calmly. "If you cannot help us achieve that goal, you must stand aside."

"Must I?" Alistair asked with the sibilant hiss of a snake. "There is no way you can get down without my help, unless you had wings to fly." A strange look passed over his face, his lip curling in fear and anger, and before Dean knew what was happening, Alistair had his bony hands wrapped around Dean's throat, squeezing hard. "There is no safe passage for the likes of you!"

Dean fought back. He was young and strong, and Alistair looked like a stiff breeze could knock him to the ground, but his looks belied the strength in his hands. They struggled and fought right up to the edge of the cliff. Dean caught one last glance of Cas's blue eyes, opened wide in shock, as he went toppling over the side.

The water rushed up to greet him and Dean braced for the impact. The fall was too far; he would be smashed apart by the water and rocks and never reach his brother. Dean's heart was filled with despair but he stretched his hands forward as if he could push aside the jagged rocks. The frigid dampness of the fjord had just touched his fingertips when an arm appeared around his waist, spinning him around.

His brave companion had caught him in his free-fall. Cas entered the water first, taking the brunt of the impact. The icy water did not feel as cold with Cas there to cushion the blow. The very rocks stood in awe of his selfless bravery and refused to break their fragile bodies.

Water filled Dean's mouth and nose, but Cas's arm was strong around his waist, pulling him up, up, up to break the surface with a grateful gasp.

"That was some dive," a woman's voice called out. Dean stared at Cas, disoriented, before Cas nodded off to his right.

"There is a woman in a rowboat," he said in a low voice.

"Now?" Dean asked, struggling for his breath. "Right when we most have need of a rowboat? I do not trust her."

"It is most likely that she is of a kind with the creature at the crossroads and Alistair," Cas agreed. "But we need the rowboat."

Dean nodded. "Ho, the rowboat!" he called.

A young woman in a plain wooden rowboat paddled into his view. She turned an appraising gaze on them, causing Dean to shiver from more than just the bone-chilling cold of the water. There was something cruel and calculating in her brown eyes, incongruous in her heart-shaped face and with her lovely rosebud mouth. Dean wished he still had his pack and the supplies therein; surely something inside it could have aided them against another demon, but it was now at the bottom of the fjord.

The woman held out an oar to them. Cas ignored it and tugged Dean over to the side of the boat, boosting him up and over. Dean crouched in the bottom of the boat shivering and utterly wretched, as Cas followed him over the side.

"A couple of drowned rats," the woman remarked. "You'll most likely freeze to death before I row us to the other side." She took up her oars, easily propelling them through the water, though she was small and delicate and she rowed against the wind. Dean exchanged a look with Cas, but there was not much Dean could do at the moment. The water was turning to icicles in his eyelashes and hair.

Cas took off his coat and bade Dean sit in the prow of the boat, hunched beneath the coat. Dean protested, but his muscles were already seizing up and it was easy for Cas to maneuver him. Cas deftly stripped him of his frozen clothes and bundled him in the coat, the lining of which had somehow stayed dry. Cas did not look near as cold as Dean felt, but he stripped out of his own wet clothes and joined Dean beneath the coat.

The coat was impossibly soft and dry, and Cas was so warm that despite the danger of their situation, Dean felt himself falling asleep.

When Dean next opened his eyes, morning fog covered the fjord, touching the world in hazy silver. The demon, for surely she had to be, rowed on, but her eyes were wary and watchful where they rested on a sleeping Cas. Cas awoke when Dean stretched and pulled their dry but cold clothes into the warm cocoon of Cas's coat.

"What do you think we should do about her?" Dean whispered.

"'She' has a name. Meg. And you're not going to do anything about me if you want to see your brother again."

"What do you know about my brother?" Dean asked, amazed.

"Oh, just where he is, who has him, what you need to do to get him back. Little things."

"You will tell us what you know," Cas commanded.

"I will do anything for a price," Meg said.

Dean had no more material possessions, but it didn't matter. He would do whatever it took to get his brother back. Meg chuckled as if she could read his thoughts and found them amusing.

"Can you see the village through the mist?" she asked.

Dean and Cas both turned. Sure enough, there was a tiny village clinging to flat land before the steep cliffs of the fjord rose up behind it.

"That village is under a powerful enchantment by a warlock called Crowley. None of the inhabitants can remember who they are, so none of them want to leave. Crowley grows more and more powerful from their devotion."

"How do we keep our memories when we go there?" Dean asked.

"That's your problem." Meg lifted the oars from the water. They were almost to the dock. "But you will have to kill Crowley to break the enchantment."

Dean did not like being a killer and he could not trust Meg's information. He would keep his own counsel with Cas. His companion stared intently at the village. When the boat bumped into the dock, Cas leapt out first.

"Dean," he said, holding out his hand, "as long as we stay together, we can help each other retain our memories."

Dean nodded, grateful he would not have to embark on this task by himself. Cas kept his hand on Dean's elbow as they made their way down the dock, leaving Meg behind. With each step, Dean reminded himself of who he was and who he hoped to see in the village. A few people glanced curiously at them as they walked through the village, but none were his brother. The people began to follow them and Dean stirred with unease. They were being herded towards the large house at the head of the village square. He grasped Cas's hand in his, feeling reassurance as his memories remained his own.

"Welcome to my village!" a man said from the doorway of the large house. "Come inside, put up your feet, have a drink. Hmmm." His eyes narrowed as they came closer. "You're different."

Dean's heart pounded. He must be Crowley, the powerful warlock, and he could tell Dean and Cas remembered who they were. Dean decided to take a risk.

"We are," he confirmed. "We are powerful wizards and will only leave you in peace if you deliver Sam Winchester to us."

"Sam!" Crowley called, and a very tall young man emerged from the house to stand beside him. Dean stared. It was his brother, just like in his vision, but Sam did not know him. "Do you wish to leave with two wizards?"

"No," Sam said. "I would never want to leave, especially not with wizards."

"Then we appear to be at an impasse," Crowley said. "You want him to leave with you, he doesn't want to go. Whatever shall we do?"

"He would want to go with us if he had his memories!" Dean said angrily.

"Crowley, what does he mean?" Sam asked. "I have memories. Yesterday Garth and I went fishing, and the day before that, Kevin and I painted the door. I have no memories of this man."

"Perhaps we can make a deal," Cas said. "Pick a challenge. If we best it, you give Sam one memory of Dean. If we fail, you take one memory from me."

Dean protested the fairness of taking Cas's memory instead of his, but Crowley shook on it, eyeing Cas with hunger.

Crowley chose chess for his challenge. Sam set up the chess board and stood with the people of the village behind Crowley. Dean sat opposite the warlock, Cas at his shoulder. Crowley tried to cheat, again and again. Each time he attempted to move a piece in a way it would not go, Cas stared intently at him and shook his head. Crowley grew more and more irate, and threw the board against the wall when Dean declared "Checkmate."

"Fine! One memory!" Crowley snarled, and pointed his finger at Sam. Immediately Sam's eyes grew wide as saucers and he fell to his knees.

"Dean!" he whispered.

"Another challenge!" Crowley demanded. "We will match our wits again."

"Wait, hold on." A weedy little man stepped out from the crowd of villagers. "If you gave Sam back a memory… that means the wizards were right and you took them! What about the rest of his memories? What about all of our memories? It's not fair to take people's memories!"

A red-haired woman nodded in agreement. "Garth is right. I've been collecting chicken eggs in this village for years. But what about before then? What if I was once something other than an egg collector?"

The other villagers nodded, too, and began to murmur amongst themselves: "I bet I have a mom out there," "Charlie's eggs taste bad; I doubt she knew what a chicken was," and "Even if my memories are bad, they're _mine_."

"Silence!" Crowley roared. "I have not taken any of your memories! I simply gave Sam here a false one."

Dean looked at his brother. Sam did not look happy to remember Dean. Dean's heart was filled ice, but Cas shook his head.

"Go to your brother and embrace him," he told Dean. "Then he will remember you as you were."

It was the truth. The moment Dean pulled his brother to him, the cloudiness melted from Sam's eyes and his memories returned. The villagers gave a massive cheer and descended upon Crowley, demanding their memories back. By the time each villager remembered who they had been, Crowley was a wizened old husk of a man. A powerful breeze blew in from the water and Crowley disintegrated before their very eyes.

"Bravo!"

Everyone turned to look towards the docks. Meg appeared there, clapping her hands. It made Dean uneasy. He drew Sam closer to him and took Cas's hand once again.

"Thank you for getting rid of my competition!" Meg smiled.

"Back away!" Garth shouted. "For I have remembered that I am a powerful hunter. You do not want to anger me!"

"Indeed," Meg said flatly. "That is why I'm going to give you all an amazing gift. I'm going to—"

***

There once was a young man named Dean. He lived in a village he and his fellow refugees had built themselves at the top of a mountain, with his younger brother, Sam. Their lives were filled with joy and laughter and the company of dear friends – Garth, who hunted for the village; Charlie, who fixed everything broken in the village; Ellen and her daughter, who brewed beer for the village; Kevin and his mother, who entertained the village by reciting epic poems of battle and love; and so many others.

But Dean's dreams were troubled. Every night for a year he fell asleep, alone in his big warm bed in his cozy room in the cottage he and Sam had made together. And every night he dreamed of searching for someone who stayed just beyond his reach. He thought if he could just catch up to this person and see who it was, everything would be fine. Instead he woke with his hands grasping at the empty air and the sensation of feathers, brushing against his skin.

On the one year anniversary of the founding of their village, a stranger appeared at the main gate. It was a stormy night, and at first the villagers thought it was merely the wind battering the wooden doors, but Dean thought he could hear his name. He ran to the gate and enlisted Sam to help him lift the heavy bar. With a mighty gust, the wind pushed in a man in a torn cloak. The brothers closed the gate behind him and went to his aid.

The man crouched in the dirt path, his misshapen shoulders shaking with exhaustion and hunger. As Dean approached, the man looked up, brilliant blue eyes warm with recognition.

"Hello, Dean," he said, his voice hoarse and rasping, as if from a long sickness. "I have escaped from the demon Meg, sailed across the fjords and traversed the mountains and valleys, to climb this mountain and see you again."

"Who are you, sir?" Dean asked.

"You know not who I am?" the man asked, stricken.

He truly looked like a wretched thing. Dean was stirred by compassion to offer him comfort, and laid a hand on his shoulder.

Immediately the mist cleared before his eyes, and Dean remembered his faithful companion.

"Cas!" he exclaimed, pulling the man to his feet and trying to wrap his arms around him. "What happened to us?"

"The demon Meg used Crowley's powers to erase me from your memory and send you far away," Cas said, "for she wished to gain knowledge from me about my kind."

"Your kind?" Sam asked, stepping forward. "Are you not one of us?"

"No. I am Castiel," Cas said, and gently moved Dean's arms from him, grasping Dean's wrists instead. "That day you found me on the side of the road, you showed extraordinary kindness to an angel. I came back to be your companion and try to pay back the debt I owe you."

"Are you here to stay?" Dean asked, for he did not care what Cas was or what name he went by, as long as he stayed by Dean's side.

"Forever, if you will have me," Cas said, and shook off the tattered remains of his cloak. Dean and Sam gasped at the bountiful black feathers of Castiel's wings, each one so beautiful and soft, and Dean remembered being warmed and protected by them on the long journey to rescue Sam.

"There is nothing I want more," Dean said.

And from that day forth, the village at the top of the mountain was home to an angel. Dean no longer had troubled dreams, for each night in the cottage he and Sam had built themselves, he shared his big warm bed with an angel who stretched forth his wings and held Dean close, keeping watch over his sleep.


End file.
